


Exit

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-18
Updated: 2008-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time passes, so will we. And those stars will be what's left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exit

**Author's Note:**

> I love Requiem but I needed something to fill in the blanks traditionally left by CC & Co. So here it is. Thanks to [](http://marigoldbalcony.livejournal.com/profile)[**marigoldbalcony**](http://marigoldbalcony.livejournal.com/), because she can do the math, hold her liquor and smack me down when I try to use offensive colloquialisms. And this fic is for [](http://anniemarie75.livejournal.com/profile)[**anniemarie75**](http://anniemarie75.livejournal.com/), because of her hot tubbin' skills and all-around rockingness.

"Are you coming over?"

She presses her lips together at the hope in his voice.

"I don't know."

They don't speak, but if she listens hard enough she can hear his thoughts over the miles that separate them.

It's a silence meant for her to break. "What time are you leaving in the morning?"

"We depart at 8:04. Gotta get there early. I suppose I'll call a cab."

She sighs, hearing the blanketed expectation in his voice. "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, I did. But I've got some leftover sesame chicken with jasmine rice."

"You do not!" She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to ignore the temptation.

"Yes I do. Actually, a whole container of it I haven't even touched."

She knows that he knows what he's doing, and the little part of her holding out gives in, as always, using the food as an excuse.  
______________________________________________

They sit on his couch in a customary arrangement, side by side, thighs aligned and nudged together. Bent over, elbows on the knees, like they're conspiring, planning, thinking, but they're only waiting for someone to speak.

She stares at her now-empty takeout box on his coffee table, the taste of sweet garlic and spice still strong in her mouth. She knows it was his weak attempt at making amends for the conversation in the hallway, when he told her he wouldn't let her go back to Oregon, something he probably thought was so cut-and-dried, but it wasn't. At all. And she's in no mood to let him off the hook that easily.

"I don't like this," she says. He glances sideways and the ball of his right foot starts to lightly tap against the floor. "This isn't the way we do things."

His is the first spine to hit the back of the couch. He exhales. "Scully."

She turns her head to look at him. "We work together. And I didn't appreciate you negating that fact in the hallway."

"It's different now."

"What do you mean, now? You mean since things changed?"

Things changed. That's what they've called it, because they both know what things changed. The thought of it makes her yearn to run her fingers through his tousled hair and forget everything else troubling her. But she doesn't.

"Scully, it doesn't matter that things changed. Even if this was three years ago, I still wouldn't let you go back to Oregon. Not being an abductee. You're an obvious target. Do you know how irresponsible it would be of me to let you go?"

She laughs, but it's far from amused. "Since when did you start making my decisions for me?"

His eyes meet hers and she detects the little alarm going off in his head.

"Is that what happens now, Mulder? You telling me where to go and what to do and me sitting at home while my valiant partner quests and returns with his spoils?" She takes a slow breath in, looking at him expectantly.

"Whoa, whoa, Scully." She watches him rightfully take offense to her statement. He puts a hand on her thigh and she stares at it. "You know that's not true. You're my partner. You said it. We work together. We're two sides of the same coin, Scully. Equally weighted, and each of us is heads-up fifty-percent of the time."

She doesn't move, feeling the warmth from his hand passing through to her skin. "What if this time, my head's up?"

He rubs his hand over his face, breathes out. "You may be surprised to hear this, but I don't have an answer for you."  
____________________________________________________

She stands at his bedroom window and feels like she's waiting for something to happen.

She parts the blinds and stares past a tree to the sky, the city lights casting hazy gray over pitch black, hiding the stars from her view.

His arms slide around her waist and she feels his lips on the top of her head. She closes her eyes, trying to relax into him.

"What are you thinking?" he murmurs into her hair, his voice barely discernable.

She's picturing a dark canvas dotted with stars, something she always appreciated when on their trips to towns speckled across the country, towns that weren't too busy to notice how tiny they were in the great expanse of things.

One night she felt so small, alone in the cool night, wandering outside her room and settling in a rusted out patio chair to watch the moon cross the sky. It never stopped--she just rarely paused to notice the world passing them by, relentlessly churning.

"I'm thinking of stars."

He pushes the hair away from her neck and she instinctually tilts her head to give access to his lips. They move across her skin and she breathes out slowly. "You can't see them here, but they're up there," he says.

"Sometimes I wish we could share them." She feels like she's in a daze, her voice soft. "Not just sometimes, but every night, just for a minute. Mulder, we're so inconsequential in the entirety of it all. Time passes, so will we. And those stars will be what's left."

She runs her hand across his arm. He sighs and presses his lips against her ear. "How about a long weekend at the Vineyard when I get back? There's about a million stars in the sky over the Atlantic just waiting to be pondered. I counted once."

"That would be nice," she says, leaning back into him. He pulls her earlobe between his lips, sending a tingle to her toes. "You're not putting it off this time."

"I won't." His arms tighten around her waist. "For now, we're here. And all I want is you."  
____________________________________________________

His kisses trails down her body like raindrops on a pane of glass, slow, meandering trips down one side, down the other.

His mouth presses against the sensitive skin under her belly button, kissing, caressing. Her fingers tangle in his hair and she closes her eyes, lost in breathing, lost in feeling.

"I love this spot," he murmurs. She feels him press his cool cheek against her abdomen and she grazes her fingernails over his scalp. Their eyes meet over her body and she's not sure what she sees in his eyes--something edging the line between weakness and strength.

She feels the tear slide down her cheek before she realizes what's happened. He rests on her stomach, watching intently instead of immediately trying to console her as usual.

She doesn't wipe her tear away--for the first time, she doesn't feel like she has to hide it from him.  
____________________________________________________

She stares into his eyes as she moves on him, around him. She's looking for something there, an antidote to the tingling queasiness in her gut, an explanation to why the world suddenly feels off-kilter.

She watches him, the way his chin lifts when he gasps, how his eyes close as he grazes his lower lip with his teeth. His hips rise to meet hers and she loses her breath.

"Don't go to Oregon," she whispers onto his cheek, her hips slowly working, pulling him deep, losing him again. This feeling is a little new, a physical connection to complete it all, and all she wants is to carry him with her over the next long days while he's gone.

He furrows his brow for a split second, his fingers sliding up and down her back, making her shiver. She presses her body against him more, seeking safety in warmth. She watches him lost in thought.

"I have to." He nudges his forehead against hers. The look in his eyes begs her to understand, to give this to him--what he's been searching for through the dark, underground, in the deep. Let him have this, just one time.

She lets him turn her on her back, lets him settle into her, lets him give and take, lets him moan her name with his face buried in her neck, lets him make her come again, eyes squeezed shut and body shuddering, while she hopes for bad weather in the morning.  
____________________________________________________

She awakens with a gasp, cheeks wet, fingers twisted in the sheets. She's afraid to touch him as he lies in tranquility next to her. That he might feel her worry, her pain, her anger, all in a brush of her fingertips across his shoulder.  
She lets him dream. He doesn't have to know this time.  
____________________________________________________

It's a rare event--she's driving. They've opted for silence during the trip to the airport. Dawn is rising over the city in the form of a ribbon of rainbow across the horizon. She does her best to hide her nerves--he knows how she feels about all of this by now, but it hasn't changed his plan. She has to accept it, or at least feign acceptance until he's out of eyeshot.

It's not what we do, she thinks, fingers tapping the steering wheel. He's watching the world fly past the passenger window, a world barely awake, rustling into consciousness. She steals glances of his profile in the dusky morning light and fights the urge to run her fingers across his cheek.

The airport is busy and she finds a cramped space at the curb. She pops the trunk and feels her stomach twist as he exits the car. She follows him wordlessly. She's never left him at an airport like this, not that she can remember. Never feeling like this. It's different and it aches a little more than she expected and is willing to admit.

He pulls his bag out and takes it to the curb. She follows, watching him. He turns to her and they study each other. She can't figure out the look in his eyes. He's hiding something deeper and she knows he'll hold it back. They're alike in that way.

"So I'll be back on Thursday," he finally says, shifting on his feet, his eyes not leaving hers.

When was the last time they hadn't seen each other for two days? When he went to England? God, it feels like a decade ago. "Okay," she says, managing to sound fairly accepting of the timeline he's set. Her breath quickens as he reaches for her hand and squeezes it.

He smiles softly. "Hey. It's only two days."

She can't fight her tears and he pulls her into his chest with a sigh, his hand in the back of her hair. She bites her lip hard, pushing it back, trying to hold on.

"It's okay, Scully. It's okay." His fingertips brush the small of her back in circles.

She feels herself blush as she looks up at him. "I know. I’m sorry. I've been so…" She can't finish the thought, can't tell him how needy she's felt lately, how emotional she's been.

He cups her face with his hands and kisses her. She closes her eyes, letting his warmth settle into her body. He wipes her damp cheeks with his thumbs and she moves her mouth against his, capturing any part of him she can as the world whirs away around them.

She opens her eyes, looks at him and nods, kissing his palm. He turns away and grabs his bag, smiling. She sees right through it to the empathy and sadness below the surface. She returns his smile anyway.

"Two days. I miss you already." He gives her forehead a quick kiss before he walks past her, away through the revolving door. She watches him through the tall windows until he weaves his way through the crowd, disappearing.

-end-


End file.
